


Perfectly Broken

by Severa_Snape



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Snarry - Fandom
Genre: AU Dark, Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severa_Snape/pseuds/Severa_Snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Play with me Mr. Puppet Master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Broken

**Author's Note:**

> **Challenge:** Written for the Anti-Valentine’s Day mini-fest for using the prompt: _Severus was nothing to look at, he had no charm or natural confidence to smooth his rough edges, so why was this happening?_
> 
> Biggest Thanks again to **Roozetter** for her beta work. I have no idea how she does it, but she waves her wand and turns over written crap into the vision I originally wanted to capture.
> 
> Severus says that he will not be owned, so unfortunately these characters are not mine. In other words I have no money nor make any off this, so don’t sue me please.

He uses me.

He uses my body, he baths in my soul, and he fucks with my mind.

I know I am not the only one, for I am just his plaything, his flavor of the evening if you care to describe it as such. I am not so far gone to be under the delusion that I matter, nor does he allow such thinking. He tells me every time he unleashes his fury upon me. If it weren’t for his desire for anonymity I’m sure he would brand **Cocksucker** across my forehead out of spite, and to further my humiliation.

I would let him.  
He is my addiction.

 _Its just sex_ , I remind myself.

He is nothing to look at, has no charm or natural confidence to smooth his rough edges, and his cruelty is as fierce as a serpent’s strike. His dark eyes challenge me, his voice seduces me, and his powerful _essence_ lures me. They are all weapons that can very well destroy me, yet here we are, with me crawling back time and time again. Begging.

Begging to be touched. Begging to be punished. Begging to be corrupted.

My subconscious attempts to scream at me. I ignore it; the message that the dynamics of our relationship are detrimental to my very life reduced to a faint whisper.

Still, I do not listen.

It pains me every second I’m away from this room where reality stands still. I welcome the smell of dust, mold, and what is undeniably _him_ within these darkened walls.

Outside the doors my life is so mundane. Everything is so meaningless.  
I have a wife, a child, a career, yet I care for none of it.  
I love my son, but I only married to fulfill what was expected of me, not for love, the desire for the perfect family, nor even to continue my family name.

My wife is another matter. It is a never-ending facade of propriety between us. I look at her with false smiles and drown her in pretty white lies. My body screams when any part of me caresses hers. Her taste, with every kiss, as vile as turpentine.

“Gnuhhh!!!” My hair is pulled harshly, arching my back uncomfortably up and backwards.

His lips hover close to my right ear, never touching. “Tell me, Potter,” the fingertips of his right hand slide gently down my throat only to grip harshly at my Adams apple, choking. “What has your mind so _captivated_?”

I cannot lie to him no matter how I may wish it. The words come out strained and rushed. “The thought of touching my wife sickens me.”

A small snort of amusement is heard, then inch by agonizing inch he begins to pull out of my body.

“No!”

“Why ever not, Potter? Clearly, you prefer _thinking_ about your _darling_ wife. If only she could see you now. Bound, writhing, mewling and bucking like a wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure. You don’t deserve _this_ ,” pushing slightly forward to emphasize his point.

He’s right. I don’t deserve him, but I want him anyway. I’ve proven that by continuously submitting to his will. My arms are bound in front of me with rope that bites into my flesh, fully nude and exposed while he remains clothed except the zip of his slacks.

“Please” is pathetically drawn from breath.

“What do you want, _my Harry_?” My name is made all the more mocking by his endearing tone.

He says it because he knows I wish to hear it vibrate past his lips. He says it because he knows that I realize that he isn’t sincere.

“Please,” I beg shamelessly. “Do whatever you want, but _please_ don’t stop.”

With a growl he releases my hair, only to slam my head forward onto the table with a resounding crack. My legs spread even further apart as he pushes in, pressing me roughly against the table once again.

“Without pain, life has no purpose or meaning. I wish to give your life meaning, _Harry_.”

Breathing heavily, I open my eyes and watch him select a blade from the pouch on the corner of the table that I had not noticed before.

“I suggest you remain still.”

Terror washes over me for a brief moment from the sheer expectation in Severus’ voice, and the almost loving touch that is placed upon my shoulder blades. There is no further warning before the blade meets my skin, shiny beads of blood appearing almost instantly. I hiss with each stroke, clenching my hands tightly against the restraints, muscles tightening around the cock buried deeply in my arse. The velvet groan in my ear makes me smile.

The pain is searing. I try to restrain my screams, but the blade draws them forth against my will. I am an instrument that he plays with each stroke of his wrist. An instrument he can break before becoming the echoes of its vibration.

I hate it. I love it.

There’s blood, sweat, and tears, by the time he sets the blade aside. I draw in a shaky breath, waiting, as his hands move to grasp at my shoulders and hair. Harshly pressing his lithe body against mine, my blood slides against his chest as he grinds his hips. Faster and faster he fucks me, mercilessly pounding against my prostate, pinning my hips and cock against the edge of the table before pulling out to cum in long strands over my backside with a deep groan. I am not far behind.

Sitting upright, he casts me aside with a sharp shove. The sound of footsteps leaving the room and a door slamming as he makes way to his potions laboratory.

Always taking.

Leaving me open, torn and abused to bleed inside and out.

*~*~*

As the days pass by my body aches and my fingers rub at the burns where the rope has left its mark. My wrists are a vibrant red, for he only leaves enough room for me to struggle to take them off without the use of magic. They are a symbol, a reminder, helping me get me through the lie that is my life. I stare at them for hours before placing a glamour to hide them, but the words on my back come as a surprise.

_**Between the heavens above and the demons below, Suffer the misery of the damned and make a whore of your soul.**_

_**For you are worthless.** _

_**  
** _

**-SS**

**  
**

****

He has branded me in crimson.  
_He has branded me his_ , I think with a smile. He is my obsession.

Time drifts slowly as I await our next meeting. Forcing myself through the motions becomes overwhelming and unbearable, until at last it is Friday.

 _The beginning of the Valentine’s Day weekend._ I think happily, already planning excuses to spend as much time of the holiday with him as possible.

I have already given my string of excuses for tonight, reminding my wife with a quick Floo message that it will be another late night at the office, before I’m rushing out the door and Apparating to the dismal flat I know so well.

As discreetly as possible I rap my knuckles on the wooden door.

Nothing.

After a few moments I try again, slightly louder and with a firmer hand.

Nothing.

It has never taken more than a moment for him to answer the door. Anxiety makes me bold. I cast a wordless _Alohomora_ and slip past the threshold.

_There is nothing here._

I run from room to room, searching for anything that speaks of a breath of life -- parchment, books and potions... Nothing. Desperate, I hurry down to the potions laboratory, only to encounter the same soul-consuming darkness that rivals Dementors. All that’s left are memories, the future looming as bleak as the bare and dusty room as I make my way to the fireplace. Amidst the soot I fall to my knees, grasping at my sides in pure agony, feeling fragile, exposed, and achingly vulnerable. Tears fall, my heart tearing to shreds.

“He abandoned me,” I whisper.

_Alone_

“No…”

 _He gave me meaning_.

“He knew.”

 _He left me broken_.

“Severus…”

_It’s just sex…_


End file.
